


Painting the Clouds

by LadyKes



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: Jack Robinson is not having a very good month, but it may be looking up.





	Painting the Clouds

It’d been a terrible month. First Constable Collins had been off ill for two weeks with what Miss Williams had been terrified was influenza, but which fortunately had just been a lingering cold. While Jack’s assigned constable was ill, several other constables had been seconded to City South, but none of them had proved to be as satisfactory as Constable Collins. The best had been Constable Browning, who made Constable Collins seem suave and debonair but was otherwise at least interested in and capable of doing his job fairly well. He’d got a decent report back to his superior. The worst had been Constable Sherman, who had been so convinced that he knew both his job and Jack’s that he’d nearly scuppered the closest thing to an air-tight robbery case Jack had ever seen. He had _not_ got a decent report back to his superior.

On top of that, Jack’s plumbing had chosen this month to almost literally explode, which had left him with ruined furniture and a house that smelled like the Yarra. He’d spent his few precious off-hours sweeping out and cleaning up what he could, but he still only had cold water. The new hot water boiler was scheduled to be installed tomorrow and he couldn’t wait. He had appreciated cold baths when he was in the trenches, since they were often the only bath he’d get, but now they only made him irritable. He’d stayed at a hotel or with family a couple of times just to have a warm shower, but there was only so many times his pride or his bank account would allow that. 

On top of that, the station’s roof was being replaced and they’d had workers up there banging away for the last week. The amount of Aspro everyone had been going through might be keeping the chemist across the road in business. If there wasn’t so clearly actually a leak in the roof (which he had discovered when he’d felt icy drips down his neck), he’d be tempted to investigate for any collusion between the workers and the chemist. 

And on top of all of that, he’d just got the fifth flat on the police motorcar in two weeks. He examined the tyre carefully and determined it was yet another nail. Either he had the worst luck possible or someone was deliberately planting nails in the road. He preferred the former, but he’d have to consider the latter. Perhaps someone should call around the local mechanics and see if there had been an uptick in punctures. 

If anything else happened, he was going to take some stored leave and go to a holiday cottage on the coast. Just as he thought that, he felt a blow on the back of his head and everything went black. 

 

“Inspector?”

“Jack?”

“Sir?”

The voices overlapped, but eventually Jack sorted them out as being Miss Williams, Miss Fisher, and his Constable, in that order. He could tell the last was his Constable because the voice still sounded slightly stuffy. He groaned and put a hand to the back of his head, but it was batted away with an annoyed, “Stop that.”

Dr. MacMillan was here too, it seemed, and he slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Miss Fisher’s blindingly yellow car coat. Truly, he hadn’t known clothing of that color existed, but then that was the case for many of Miss Fisher’s sartorial choices. And it did suit her admirably, as he was sure she knew.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” the doctor said dryly, and he squinted up at her questioningly, but it was Miss Fisher who answered his unspoken question.

“We were quite worried for a moment, Jack,” she said, and she actually did look worried. “A laborer was working on the roof and dropped his lunch kit. Fortunately, it was empty.”

Of course they had. He’d thought to himself that things couldn’t get worse, after all. It was almost as bad as someone saying the station had been “quiet”, which was guaranteed to call in every drunk in a five block radius, not to mention all the casual pickpockets. 

He saw the worried laborer twisting his cap in his hands a few feet away and promptly sat up, refusing offers of assistance from everyone despite how the world spun for a moment.

“I’m quite alright, thank you everyone,” he said, pitching his voice so the laborer could hear. With that said, the bloke popped his cap back onto his head and left quickly, almost quickly enough that it was funny. And he hadn’t bothered to take his lunch tin, either. Jack would be sure it was saved for him.

“Dr. MacMillan?” He questioned next. 

“Just passing by, Inspector. I was flagged down by Phryne. Well, Phryne’s coat, actually.”

At least he wasn’t the only one who was aware of the improbable colour, and he smiled as he carefully stood up. He did accept his Constable’s assistance in that, though he waved off any other offers. 

Once he was on his feet Dr. MacMillan nodded briskly and said “You’ll do. And I’m late,” then strode off.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright, Jack?” Miss Fisher asked almost anxiously.

“I’ll be just fine, Miss Fisher, thank you,” he assured her. “Although I do think this is confirmation that I’ve irritated some unknown god or walked under fifteen unseen ladders or perhaps I’ve been cursed by some spirit summoned by Mrs. Bol-whatsit.”

“Well, you can’t be too badly off or you wouldn’t be able to grumble about it.”

Miss Fisher spoke airily, but he saw his constable suppress a smile. Perhaps he had been slightly more irritable recently than normal. It was justified, of course.

“I shall endeavour to paint the clouds with sunshine, Miss Fisher. Will that do?”

“Yes, thank you, Jack. And now I did have a reason for coming here, so perhaps we ought to go inside?”

It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t one. He followed his own personal ray of sunshine through the doors, and somehow his mood did lift slightly as he listened to Miss Fisher talk and gesticulate and generally be herself in that ridiculous yellow coat.

Perhaps he’d paint the clouds with sunshine after all -- after he took another Aspro.

**Author's Note:**

> "Painting the Clouds with Sunshine" was released in 1929 as a song from a musical called _Gold Diggers of Broadway_. You can find the song on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziMXWaDGvQA).


End file.
